


Butterflies and Hurricanes

by runoutofwit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Endverse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runoutofwit/pseuds/runoutofwit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even with his near-extinct Grace, Castiel always knows when Dean is going to have a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butterflies and Hurricanes

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the dc_summerlovin fic exchange on LJ. This was written for boysinperil.

Castiel can always tell when Dean is going to have nightmares. He doesn’t know whether it’s traces of Grace allowing him to see into the human’s mind or their profound bond or if he just knows Dean that well. For one reason or another, though, he is always aware of it. Of course, Camp Chitaqua’s fearless leader had bad dreams every night, but it was when bad turned into gut-wrenchingly terrible that Cas would get concerned knots in his stomach. On those days, the fallen angel refrained from his normal routine of sex, drugs, and alcohol. He would follow his friend from a distance, keeping a quiet eye on him before sneaking into his cabin at night. 

Today, words from a life lived long ago ring in his ear (I’m not here to perch on your shoulder, Dean) and he chuckles grimly to himself. It marks four years from the last time Dean saw his brother, so it is only natural that the pain in the fallen angel’s stomach is worse than it’s ever been and there’s an ache pounding in his skull. He is tempted to hunt down some Valium or other pain killers, but he doesn’t. Dean is going to need him later, and he wants to be completely coherent.

Night falls, and Castiel follows the leader to his lodgings. The leader used to force him away, yell at him, try to drive him out, but he gave that up almost six months ago. Now, he leaves the door open and his ally follows with all the rigidness of a soldier. Cas closes and locks the door behind him, abandoning his moccasins and clothing at the foot of the bed before climbing in with Dean.

The human remains impassive as he’s brought into the other’s arms, held tight and warm against a fragile body that should have emanated celestial strength. They don’t speak; they rarely do. Instead, they lay together, Castiel’s head buried in the crook of the Dean’s neck. He knows that he must reek of sin, but the human doesn’t seem to mind. 

Dean shows his affection in simple ways. He will run his hand through Castiel’s mop of dark hair, or he’ll press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Sometimes, very rarely, the fallen angel can coax out a smile. Not one that’s sarcastic or grim, but a true, genuine smile. It never lasts more than a few seconds, and it has been happening less and less frequently, but the brief show of happiness is always because of Cas.

They remain in silence until he feels Dean relax in his arms. He takes in a quiet, deep breath, fingers stroking the man’s hair, knowing the nightmares will ensue soon. Castiel keeps vigil, memories playing in his head. Whether that is to keep himself entertained or to torture himself, he is not sure.

The nightmares begin after just two hours. Cas knows this, because he feels Dean’s muscles tense and bunch. The man’s heartbeat and breath quicken, and the former angel is quick to wrap himself tighter, making their bodies a mess of limbs and skin as he presses his lips to his lover’s ear.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he whispers, unable to stop himself from flinching at the other’s light whimpers. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re here with me. You’re safe. Nothing is going to harm you. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”

The lies roll off one by one. He remembers when his companion first taught him how to do that, to lie (We’re humans. When we really want something, we lie). Right now, all Cas wants is for Dean to make it through his nightmare. He damn well knows it’s not okay. He knows that the man has never been safe, and he knows that he can’t do anything to protect Dean. He knows he’s useless, but that’s what lying is for. Lying is used to protect the ones you love, to get what you want. 

Unfortunately, his words give the human no solace. He writhes, and Castiel finds himself wishing there was something he could do. In the past, he could have ventured into the human’s mind, manipulated his dreams into something pleasant. But not now. Now, he is powerless to help, and it kills him.

The nightmares start to escalate. Soon, there are tears forming in the man’s tightly closed eyes, his lips parting to give a loud cry of pain and to shout his brother’s name. He grips Cas’ arm painfully tight, and the fallen angel winces before trying to rouse his partner. It takes several hard shakes, but the brunette finally stirs, wide-eyed and trembling.

“It was just a dream, Dean. You are okay,” Castiel sighs, his shoulders relaxing. 

He sits up on the bed, brushing his thumb over the human’s forehead to wipe away beads of sweat. Moss-colored eyes stare blankly at the ceiling before moving to the former angel. He frowns and closes his eyes tightly to wipe at them. Cas’ hand falls to his side, and he sits cross-legged, regarding Dean with pity and empathy. He can feel bruises forming where he was grabbed.

Castiel pulls back the sheet, revealing the human’s chest and stomach and begins to tenderly trace the scars. He knows Dean won’t want to talk about it, so he doesn’t bother asking. He grants him the silence that he loves to wallow in, focusing on the scars and the nostalgia they bring. When the angel had raised him, the man’s skin had been flawless with the exception of a swollen handprint on his arm. Now, however, his body was probably in its worst state. 

“I just want this to be over, Cas.”

The words surprise the angel, whose dim cerulean eyes flick towards his lover’s face. His gaze is soft and empathetic, and he nods his agreement. 

“You are not the only one.”

The human reaches up and drags the angel onto him. Strong arms wrap around the skeletal back, clinging with firm, unrelenting hands. They lie flush, naked bodies pressed tightly together. Nothing about it is sexual. It is intimate and knowing, wordlessly expressing absolute trust, sadness, and desperation. Castiel rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He is confused about the sudden closeness, but he doesn’t complain. These instances of outright affection are incredibly rare, and he will do nothing that might bring them to a premature end.

“I don’t deserve this, Cas.” The words rumble into the fallen angel’s ear, and he furrows his brow as he listens. Despite the quietness of the tone, it is angry and bitter, the whispers spitting from the human’s lips. “I’m a good person. I do good things; I help people. I shouldn’t be… I shouldn’t be lying here, thinking of how much better things would be if I was dead. I don’t deserve all this shit that the world’s thrown at me. I don’t deserve to have my brother taken away from me, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be the one to have to kill him. I raised him, y’know. It wasn’t Dad. He didn’t do shit. I was the one who took care of Sammy. I was the one who made sure he ate and got medicine when he was sick. I—“

Dean’s voice breaks, and he has to take a shuddering breath to stop himself from crying. The man atop him reaches up slowly to cup his face, his thumb gently brushing over the stubble of his jaw. 

He presses a soft kiss to Dean’s shoulder and murmurs into his skin, “I know, Dean. You don’t deserve any of this.” He closes his eyes. “You are a good man. You always have been. I wish that things didn’t have to be this way and that I could make it better for you.”

He feels Dean’s fingertips dig into his skin, clinging as if afraid the angel will disappear. 

“I don’t know why you stick around, Cas… Of all people, you should hate me the most.”

The fallen abruptly sits up, his face hardened and stern. Dean appears surprised, especially when Castiel grips his face in both hands, staring down at him with intensity reminiscent of bright Grace and angel blades. 

“I am here, Dean, because I will always be here for you, just like I always have,” he says slowly, voice deep and serious, exactly how a creature of ancient power and wisdom should sound. “Whatever I do, it is because I wish to do it and I wish to help you. I gave up my home for you. I gave up my family for you. I even died for you, and yet I do not regret any of it. I did all of it because of how deeply I care for you. My burden should not fall on your shoulders; I acted of my own accord.” He leans down and presses a gentle, chaste kiss to the man’s lips, lingering for a moment before falling to Dean’s side, nuzzling up to him. “You should worry more about yourself than me. I believe that is where your problem lies. You feel the need to protect everyone. You want to make everyone’s lives better, but never your own.”

The words hang in the air. Several minutes pass and Dean turns to lie on his side, staring at Cas. “Thanks,” he mutters.

The edge of his lips twitches up, reveling in the rarity of the word. He doesn’t mention it, and instead asks, “Would you like to try sleeping again?”

Dean shakes his head in answer, but pulls the sheet farther up, covering both of them up to their necks. “I just want to lie here.” 

And Castiel doesn’t argue, because how could he argue that? He closes his eyes, though, listening to the sound of their combined breathing, feeling the human’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed together. And they remain like that for hours, neither falling asleep until sunrise is almost upon them. 

When Castiel awakes, he’s alone in the cabin. He stares at the ceiling and rubs his eyes, before he crawls out of bed. He puts on his clothes, returns the moccasins to his feet, and exits the building. Back to work again.


End file.
